


drawn to the blood

by ammydos



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (Slightly), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Pre-Canon, not really a snily fic but there is some implied relationship talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26286574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ammydos/pseuds/ammydos
Summary: "in truth, lily’s love ruined him. it made him crave affection so fiercely that he had no choice but to disguise it as a hunger for power." (a man and his grief and the weight of the world on his shoulders)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	drawn to the blood

> _"For my prayer has always been love_
> 
> _What did I do to deserve this?"_
> 
> _\- Drawn to the Blood, Sufjan Stevens_

It is not his grief to bear, but Severus takes it all anyway and it settles itself uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach.

Amortentia has always smelled a bit like nail polish to him. Lily’s favorite color was baby blue, and she would watch in silence when Severus painted it on for her, careful not to touch her fingers with his own. She claimed that he had the steadier hands, though it later occurred to him that she just liked to be cared for in a way that required such stillness from the both of them. 

Lily was strange like that. Often, she would wait for Severus to discover what she wanted instead of simply telling him. Even in adolescence, it was infuriating, but it taught him patience which he was grateful for, in the end.

No one was wrong when they assumed he loved her, they just missed the brief and blissful point of time in which she loved him back. It was not difficult to overlook. Lily traded her softness for burning ferocity at Hogwarts, a necessary defense against the whispers in the hall when she passed. Despite her intelligence, many students simply refused to disregard her muggle upbringing. Furthermore, their house placements kept the two of them separated, and they were left to speak in hurried sentence fragments at the sight of one another, saying anything, no matter how insignificant. Severus has a distinct memory of Lily telling him what she had eaten for breakfast every morning. Her truest and most intimate feelings were reserved for the summertime, where she would offer Severus pieces of her heart like she was nursing a wounded animal back to health. 

And then, too soon, was sixth year, and their awful screaming match outside the Gryffindor common room. He still remembers her long, messy hair and the wool socks she always wore when it started getting cold. Not the most important part of the evening to recall, but better than her voice, hoarse with tears because of _him._ Afterward, Lily traded the soft blue polish for ruby red, and he could tell she painted every nail herself because the color was always speckled across her fingers like blood. 

In truth, Lily’s love ruined him. It made him crave affection so fiercely that he had no choice but to disguise it as a hunger for power. 

…

_Do not fidget so much,_ is what Albus tells him when he makes him a spy, and he is twenty-one and in mourning and could not _stop_ fidgeting if he tried. _You mustn't give yourself away._ As if he does not already know this. As if he does not have a history with the Dark Lord and the mark on his forearm as proof. It has been aching lately. Spreading up to his shoulder and the side of his neck and he swears some days he can feel it in his teeth. He takes it as a warning. The pain thrums in time with his pulse, and he shuts his eyes against it and fails for the thousandth time to convince himself that he is a good man. 

So Albus shows him how to still his hands and then he offers him a job that Severus graciously accepts after bearing him his heart and soul because Lily is dead and buried, and he has nothing left to lose. 

Lucius Malfoy, a man of little subtlety (though he does try, and Severus gives him credit for it), welcomes him into his home again and it is terrifying and familiar, though they keep their hands to themselves this time. Lucius reaches more than once and stops each instance as if he has been burned. Again, Severus can not help but give him credit for the newfound restraint. Narcissa is his wife now, after all. 

Although, and he will never say it aloud, something tells him that Narcissa would not mind if the three of them returned to some of their old ways of companionship. Another one of those things that he is quietly ashamed of but revisits on especially lonely nights. 

After the death of the Potters, the Death Eater status is largely performative. The Malfoys romanticize the power, however, living comfortably and pretending that Lily and James never existed at all. Severus is grateful for it, in a twisted way. He stows away his grief and drinks Narcissa’s tea while she keeps one manicured hand resting atop his arm as if he will twist away and escape at any moment.

So he has those evenings at Malfoy Manor to withstand, and then he has the teaching. 

It is not _all_ bad. The students are insufferable and chatty and most have atrocious penmanship, but the semester that he finally does away with the texbook, the grades improve and he gains something that could be considered respect from his colleagues, though they continue to evade his gaze in the halls. _Rightfully so,_ he finds himself thinking. It is difficult to be the youngest professor on staff, and it is difficult to harbor such a deep loathing for himself. Some nights, the only thing holding him together is Albus’s unwavering faith in his abilities. 

And Potions Master is one thing, but the head of Slytherin house? Severus assumes it is a punishment of sorts. A position such as that requires kindness, something that he evidently lacks, and has no desire to attempt. 

He is more capable than Horace in a number of ways, but infinitely colder. At a moment’s weakness, he asks Albus desperately _what am I doing here? How do I live like this?_ To which the Headmaster shakes his head and says _you are a smart man, Severus. Do not disappoint me._

And still, the mark aches. He begins to dream that it catches fire and burns through all the sleeves of his robes.

...

The Order is not fond of him speaking through Lily’s doe. 

He knows they suspected a different animal. Something slippery and venomous and low to the ground. They are dwindling in number, and morale is low. Much of the group’s energy has been focused on hating Severus, to which he is forced to endure. He sits like a coward in the corner of the room, unable to decide which is worse; these people simply _knowing_ that his soul remains devoted to Lily Evans, or the fact that they detest him fiercely for it. 

But he is their spy, and he is loyal. Dolohov and Greyback and even Lucius’s words all go directly to them, and this leads to the acquiescence of his company. Even so, it is far into his career as a professor before he gains the confidence to speak without his head bowed towards the floor.

Minerva defends his word in a staff meeting not long after he turns twenty-eight. By then, a handful of students have taken a liking to him, some of them Ravenclaws, and, on occasion, one smart-mouthed Hufflepuff. The sun shines rather beautifully through the stained glass outside of the dungeon stairwell, a spot he frequents in the mornings. It is a truly agonizing process, but he learns to live alongside the heartache. 

All this time, though, he has been avoiding the unavoidable. 

Lucius and Narcissa have a son. Draco is very small and very quiet and his hair is so blonde that it is almost white. Severus is so distracted with preventing the second rise of the Dark Lord that he has forgotten something crucial. Albus’s words to him on that hilltop feel like centuries ago, but the time has come for him to follow them. The Potter boy is eleven, now. 

He busies himself instead of catastrophizing. He buys enough fluxweed and adder’s fork to last the incoming students an entire year of class and cleans every surface in his lab by hand. The staff has a small meeting on the last night of August, and they discuss the boy briefly. _The_ _chosen one,_ they call him. Some professors advocate for his constant supervision, others insist that he is hardly in danger and should be treated like anyone else. 

One of them muses over the possibilities of his house placement, and Severus pretends to be extremely absorbed in his cup of tea. Only afterward does he realize that he had been reciting ingredients like a mantra, protecting his mind with wild desperation. Albus tries to speak to him. He brushes past, clenching his hands into fists. 

Fall arrives. He cannot stop it.

Severus is thirty-one, and Lily’s son has her eyes.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> the last time i thought about harry potter this much i was in 4th grade, but something prompted me to revisit the films last month and now i'm deeply attached to snape's past and just what exactly he was thinking all those years he was mourning lily.  
> please take all of this with a grain of salt, i've admittedly messed with the canon in this but i'm not trying to promote anything unhealthy, just entertaining some headcanons that won't leave my brain.  
> drop me an ask on my tumblr (@starwiitness) if you enjoyed or want to talk hp :)


End file.
